


fox out of the foxhole

by trilobites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Candy, Canon Compliant, Family Dynamics, Gen, Long-Suffering Miya Osamu, Post-Time Skip, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilobites/pseuds/trilobites
Summary: Moments in time with Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	1. fukuoka

‘FUCK UP.’ Bright red letters encased in a bright red candy shell. Atsumu stared at it. He didn't know a lot of English, but he knew that much. He looked up at Osamu, who was sipping from his straw like he was congratulating himself on bringing Atsumu something great. It was a fucking bag of candy.

"'Samu, this fuckin' says 'Fuckup.'"

"Atsumu," Osamu said. "It fuckin' says 'Fukuoka.'"

Atsumu stared at it some more. No matter how much he did, though, the letters for 'Fukuoka' didn't materialize. He clutched at the bag of candy. On the one hand, Osamu had given him something kind of sort of thoughtful, but on the other hand, this clearly said 'Fuckup.' Was he trying to subliminally message him?

Atsumu glared at his twin, whose hair was now dark and shoulders slimmed from the days when they'd spend every waking moment thinking about volleyball. There was no way either of them were budging on this candy, so he shrugged and popped one in his mouth. Cherry. This wasn’t what Atsumu would have chosen for someone as a souvenir gift. He would have gone for something sensible and thoughtful like a Fukuoka special Hello Kitty figurine. And to think that he and Osamu were made of the same genetic code.


	2. the pull-up bar incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osamu comes home after a long day of work and is greeted with an unwelcome surprise.

Miya Onigiri closed early at 3PM on Sundays, meaning that Osamu could go home after closing and shutter the shop until the following Tuesday. The end of Sunday was always the most difficult: it was when he had the most leisure to check on the pickling onigiri fillings and cleaned out the inventory of their stock.

By the time he’d finished and walked through the front door of his and Atsumu’s apartment, it was nearly time for dinner. He hoped that Atsumu had read his text reminder to think about what to eat for dinner. Osamu scrubbed his hands clean in the bathroom and was about to ask Atsumu about it when he saw him standing in the entryway, hands gathered in front of him like he was the feature in a PSA about responsible citizens of society.

“‘Samu, you’re home!”

Osamu couldn’t help the look of disgust that came over his face. “Yeah, like I said I’d be. Didja read my text about dinner?”

Atsumu suddenly went off somewhere and then came back into the frame of the entryway threshold, a heaving plastic bag in hand. “Yep. I even ordered it for ya.”

Now Osamu was suspicious. He looked around, wondering if this was one of those camera prank shows. If this was going to be broadcast, then he couldn’t let his bad side be witnessed on national television. He couldn’t make out any camera crew, or any space where they could even be hiding for that matter. So he relaxed a little and set his shoes on the rack in the closet before walking inside. Atsumu shuffled alongside him anxiously, before he set the food down on the table and stood at the hallway that led down to their rooms. He was watching Osamu carefully. Was this bastard hungry? Osamu sighed.

“Uh, you could have eaten first y’know.”

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, I mean. I wasn’t hungry, so I figured I’d wait for you.”

Atsumu not hungry? That would be the day. Osamu snorted. “Okay, ya corny fuck. Just let me change.”

Atsumu said nothing, shifting from foot to foot instead. Osamu had no idea what his problem was, but he was tired. He rolled his eyes and went down the hall, only to come face-to-face with a sheet of newspaper covering a pile of _something_. And honestly, truly, Osamu was the idiot here. He should have known that something was wrong the moment he stepped foot into the apartment and saw Atsumu waiting to greet him. He should have known that all of Atsumu’s weird behavior were signs that he was trying to avoid being guilty.

“The fuck is that?” Osamu asked, pointing at the newspaper.

Atsumu walked over to it, the set of his shoulders defensive. “Okay, so before I show ya, promise you won’t get pissy.”

Osamu sighed. “Okay, okay, fine! Just show me the fuckin’ thing. S’not like it’s a giant turd, right?”

Atsumu’s brow knit. “The fuck! Then you’d smell it! Are you stupid?”

Osamu was in the middle of a biting retort when Atsumu ripped the newspaper away to reveal a pile of rubble. He stared at it. Somehow, this wasn’t what he’d expected. Actually, he had no idea what he expected, but it wasn’t this. He looked between the rubble and Atsumu, who was pointing a finger up at the frame of his bedroom door. There was a giant chunk of it missing at the top. Osamu had so many questions, but it was past 7PM now, and there was food going cold.

“Seriously, ‘Sumu?”

“S’not my fault! I mean, maybe it is. A little? Anyway, the pull-up bar instructions said it could take up to 158 kilos! I didn’t think the door frame would fuckin’ break!”

The pull-up bar. That cursed workout equipment that Osamu had constantly hit his shin against while walking in and out of the room of their old place. He wanted to scream. Was he hangry? Probably. He threw his hands up in the air and went into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Food first, bitch later: the order of operations in the Miya household.

* * *

After a bowl of katsudon, Osamu was in a much more accommodating mood. After all, it wasn’t like he was anything less than an expert by now at managing Atsumu’s troublemaking ways. He saw Atsumu picking at his food like a sad orphan child in one of those period dramas, so he put forth his olive branch: “I’ll call mom and dad.”

Atsumu brightened up at that. “Really?”

“You scrub the toilet for the rest of the month.”

“‘Kay.”

“And the tub.”

“Uh huh.”

“Throw in the dishes—”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine, then the toilet and the tub.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, and then Atsumu sat next to him at the dining table to press his ear to the other side of the receiver while Osamu called their parents. The dial tone went on, until their mother picked up and exclaimed about the rarity of hearing from her children. He answered her questions dutifully: yes, they were eating well; no, his restaurant was not impacted by the recent wave of flu; no, neither of them had girlfriends. Atsumu rolled his eyes at the last one, and Osamu shrugged.

“So, ma, I know you and dad already sent us money for this month,” he said, using his nicest, sweetest tone of voice. “But we got a little problem. Unexpected.”

This, of course, invited another wave of questioning. Osamu had to quickly explain the series of events, before Atsumu yanked the phone out of his hand and did the job himself—with at least 200% less delicacy.

“Well, yanno how Tsumu needs to exercise lots, bein’ an athlete and all. He was workin’ out with the pull-up bar in the doorway when it collapsed under the weight of his big ass—”

“Screw you, ‘Samu!” He felt Atsumu shifting from beside him before he could even see it. With the lightning quick reflexes ingrained in him through years of conditioning, Osamu leaped out of the way and kept Atsumu at an arm’s length by pressing his palm to his forehead. It was a smooth choreography that they’d memorized long ago. Atsumu roared with rage at his fruitless attempts to kick Osamu. For all that Atsumu was strong, Osamu was, too.

“Sorry, I meant Tsumu’s beefy, beefy body. Yeah, he’s next to me. Wanna talk to him—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Atsumu said, loud enough that probably their parents could have heard them all the way in Hyogo without the phone’s assistance. “I’ve done it like five hundred times before and it didn’t break ‘till now! It was an accident!”

“Yeah ‘cause it finally collapsed under the weight of your massive thighs.”

Atsumu successfully smacked him then, right on the chest, and Osamu smacked him back. The phone lay forgotten for a moment as they reverted back to the antics of their childhood. It was only because Osamu was responsible and respectful that he finally remembered that they were in the middle of a phone call. He picked up the phone and spoke: “Sorry, mom. You know how this gorilla gets.”

“Mom, I’m sorry!” Atsumu interjected.

In the end, their parents agreed to help them pay for the door repair. Osamu said his thanks, even though it was Atsumu’s fault to begin with.

“Yes, I’ll send you a LINE about the quote to fix the door. Yes, I’ll call more often.”

“BYE, MOM!” Atsumu practically honked into the phone.

Osamu’s ears rang and he sighed as the line went dead. He looked at his phone, then at Atsumu, whose expression had gone slack with relief. He snorted.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he said.

Atsumu’s brow darkened. “Shut up!”

“Whatever, go scrub the toilet, peon.”

Atsumu must really have been relieved to have told their parents about the wall, because he didn’t argue before he went down the hall towards the bathroom. Did he have any thoughts at all?

“Make sure ya scrub under the rim, too!” he called after him, taking a sip of tea from his cup.

For that, Atsumu flipped Osamu off before he slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. It was quiet and peaceful at last.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no purpose to this other than to amuse me.
> 
> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/catspizzas) most days.


End file.
